


A Rose by Any Other Name

by 44TayLo



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Allusions to Canonical Child Abuse, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Bruce Banner's Sad Backstory, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Magical Genderbending, Sort Of, not an au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 18:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17855111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/44TayLo/pseuds/44TayLo
Summary: “'Shhh. Calm down, Big Guy. We’ll make it okay. It’s going to work out.'Bruce took a deep, hitching breath. 'I look like her. And not like him.'A vice gripped what was left of Tony’s heart, a heart that belonged to the man in his arms. What could he say to that?"Amora enchants Hulk to appear female in an attempt at an ill-conceived distraction. It doesn't work, obviously, and Tony thinks everyone left the battle relatively unscathed. When Bruce wakes up, however, his feminine appearance affects him in a way Tony could never have anticipated....If only Tony could dig up Brian Banner and kill him all over again...





	A Rose by Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this instead of sleeping last night. Legitimately. I'm posting this on three hours of sleep, so hopefully it's edited well enough. 
> 
> I tried to be as sensitive with the topic of gender as possible. Bruce doesn't necessarily experience gender dysphoria himself, but I feel like this fic could be a trigger for some people just due to the nature of its content.
> 
> Read safely!!

It wasn’t that big of a deal. Or at least, it shouldn’t have been. Amora’s spell was stupidly ineffective, and obviously a last-ditch effort at a distraction. Although, Tony did have to admit that enchanting their heavy hitter to look physically female managed to throw them for a loop. Unfortunately for Amora, Hulk hadn’t been phased, and responded by launching her through a tree with a single punch.

That was all well and good. The real trouble started once Thor left to take Amora back to Asgard and the rest of the team left for home.

“Hey Green Bean, you alright?”

Hulk huffed. “Hulk fine.”

“Okay. Just checking in since you were subjected to, well,” he vaguely gestured at Hulk’s female appearance, “this without your consent.”

“Hulk not care. Hulk is Hulk.” He shrugged, tone disinterested. “Banner…Banner might care. Tony help Banner.”

“Always.”

That must have satisfied Hulk, because he immediately retreated, leaving an unconscious Bruce in his wake. Tony hefted him, bridal style. He could normally lift Bruce with ease when he was in the suit, but he still couldn’t help but notice how much smaller and lighter Bruce was at the moment. It was jarring, and there was a part of him that felt he looked more fragile than normal. Deceptively so, of course.

He had the opportunity to examine Bruce’s face further once in the quinjet. Wrapped in a blanket and settled against Tony’s chest, Bruce slept soundly the entire flight home. Tony couldn’t help but stare. It was odd, looking at Bruce and not really recognizing him. He noticed that Amora’s spell had made Bruce’s appearance conform to conventional, female gender norms. His hair was long, face deceptively slender, and he was even shorter than normal. It was odd to see the same scars and wrinkles on such a different face.

Thor had assured them that the spell would wear off by the end of the week at the latest. Apparently, Loki used similar spells often, so Thor knew a lot about them. They’d been lucky. Amora had been taken down easily, and the only speed-bump was Bruce’s current, impermanent predicament. Tony figured it’d distress him a little at first, but they’d be laughing about it soon enough.

When they landed, Bruce was still out of it, though he managed to walk in a daze to his and Tony’s floor with only Tony’s arm slung around him for support. Once safely in their bedroom, Tony helped him strip away his ruined pants and settled him into bed before changing out of his own, battle-soiled clothes. He pulled Bruce close to him, marveling again at how Bruce nuzzled into him in an oh so familiar gesture using an unfamiliar body. Fingers running through Bruce’s long curls, carefully avoiding tangles, he drifted off to sleep.

 

…Screaming, no, sobbing? Loud, urgent!

Tony bolted upright, looking around. He was home, in bed. Why did he hear a woman sobbing? The only people on this floor should have been him and Bruce.

He’d barely finished that thought before he was out of bed and standing in the bathroom doorway. Bruce, still appearing female, was holding himself around his middle and sobbing harder than Tony had ever seen him sob before. He’d thrown on pants and a T-Shirt at some point, Tony noted, and was resting his head against clothed knees.

Tony was on the ground in an instant. “Bruce, what’s wrong?”

“Tell me,” he gasped out in between sobs, words muffled and face still hidden from view, “tell me you see it, too.” His voice had an odd, musical quality to it, despite the gasping inhalations and stuttered cries.

There was only one thing Tony thought he could be referring to. His brows creased in concern, frown deepening. “Yeah. Yeah, you got hit by one of Amora’s spells. It’ll wear off in a few days—”

“A few…!” Bruce lifted his face from his knees and gave an incredulous laugh. Splotches had formed on his high cheekbones, and his eyes were red-rimmed. He must have been crying for a long time before finally becoming unable to control the volume of his sobs.

“I don’t…I don’t know if I want it to…”

Tony’s brows shot into his hairline. Bruce had never shared any feelings of gender dysphoria with him before, so this felt like it was coming out of left field. Still, he only ever wanted Bruce to be happy, and he loved him no matter what. “We could probably find a way to make it permanent if that’s what you want?” he suggested, uncertainty lilting his normally sure words.

“I don’t know. Don’t know, I just…” Bruce closed his mouth, seemingly looking for the right words. After seconds ticked on and began to bleed into minutes that were only interrupted by hitching sobs and sniffling, Tony realized he wasn’t going to continue.

“Hey. Come here,” he said gently, reaching out for Bruce but allowing his hands to hover, rather than touch.

Bruce immediately closed the distance between them, and then some, launching himself into Tony’s embrace. It took Tony a moment to rebalance. As soon as he had, his arms were securely around Bruce’s currently slim frame. He held Bruce, gently rocking, letting him cry. He rubbed his back, hummed, played with his hair, used every trick in the book to try and calm him down. Nothing worked.

He sighed, lips pressed against Bruce’s curls. “Talk to me, Goose.”

Bruce let out a single, wet laugh. “It doesn’t…doesn’t make any sense…I-I know…but…” He was hyperventilating, only able to toss in a few words at a time in between breaths.

“Shhh. Calm down, Big Guy. We’ll make it okay. It’s going to work out.”

Bruce took a deep, hitching breath. “I look like her. And not like him.”

A vice gripped what was left of Tony’s heart, a heart that belonged to the man in his arms. What could he say to that? _“You don’t normally look like him. You could never look like him. You_ aren’t _him.”_ None of those would do any good, because Bruce wouldn’t believe him. He said them out loud, anyway.

Bruce only sobbed harder, clinging to Tony like a lifeline. They sat in relative silence, Tony’s brain working overtime to connect dots he should have already connected, by now. Hulk’s warning, the way Bruce hated mirrors, how he didn’t care what he wore so long as it was comfortable, the fact that he spluttered even as his eyes darkened when Tony complimented his appearance… God, it had all been right in front of him this whole time.

“I should have…have been a girl, y-you know.”

An odd statement, choked out after an eternity. Tony looked down to catch Bruce shifting to press his face more firmly against his own, bare chest, snot and tears leaving a mess he couldn’t care less about.

“Always wondered…if he’d have hated me as much…if I’d been a girl.”

Hesitant words, muffled against his chest, full of old pain made new.

“You can’t think like that,” Tony whispered back, hold tightening. “He was a monster, Bruce. Don’t think about what-ifs. None of that was your fault.”

Bruce laughed. Tony hated that tinkling, placating laugh.

“It might have helped…a-a little…” He didn’t sound convinced.

“I love you. The way you are, any way you are. Your father was a fucking waste of oxygen for not doing the same.” And then softly, daringly, he added, “Your mother felt the same way, I know it.”

It was that statement that oddly made him finally stop crying, even when Tony had been so sure it would bring on a fresh wave of sobs.

Bruce sniffled. “She did.”

They let that statement, that fact, hang in the air for a while. Eventually, Tony had to break the quiet to ask, “Do you actually want me to talk to Thor about making this spell permanent? Because I will in a heartbeat.”

Bruce looked up at him, too round eyes crinkling in that familiar way he adored. “No,” he said around a small smile, despite the still present hyperventilation and tear tracks running down his cheeks. “Sorry. I was just…a little thrown off when…I went to use the bathroom and saw… uh, a-all of this,” he gestured at his face, then down at his breasts, eyes tracking further to gaze at his slender frame and wide hips. “Then I-I didn’t recognize my…voice when I started…crying. And well…i-it kind of made me spin out.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

Bruce huffed, and it broke in the middle. Wincing, he breathed in, diaphragm moving slowly, deliberately, with eyes still closed. Tony could feel the way his breathing shifted to one of his favored techniques.

“Want to see if we can convince the press I’m cheating on you with you?”

Bruce’s rhythm was broken when he laughed (his real, throaty laugh, though a few octaves higher).

Tony beamed. He kissed Bruce’s temple, then made to stand up, pulling Bruce with him. As soon as Bruce was standing, he caught his reflection in the mirror again, and his smile faltered.

“Hey.” Tony placed two fingers under his pointed chin, guiding his gaze back towards him and away from the mirror. He stared at Bruce’s face, cataloguing his distraught expression and the way he was now trying to hide it.

“J, have someone remove all of the mirrors on this floor and shared floors.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Oh, that’s not nece—”

Tony cut off Bruce’s protests. “Maybe not, but it’ll make you more comfortable, and that’s all that matters. Besides,” he said, dropping his hand from Bruce’s face with a shrug, “I’ve been told I could spend a little less time looking in the mirror.”

Bruce snorted, and it sounded almost exactly the same as it always had. He wiped the snot from his nose with a shirt sleeve, face twisting up. “I’m a mess.”

“My mess.”

Bruce’s face relaxed at that, a soft expression settling on his face and softer eyes staring at Tony in a way that made his heart do flips, no matter what Bruce looked like.

“Yeah. Your mess.”

They stared at each other until Bruce finally broke away to move into the closet. He returned with a washcloth, which Tony immediately took from him.

“I got it,” Tony insisted over Bruce’s protests. He pointedly turned Bruce around so he faced away from the mirror, trying to keep him from catching sight of his reflection, again. After wringing out the now soaked wash cloth, he returned and gently began wiping all evidence of Bruce’s pain from his face.

Bruce let his eyes close, humming a little at the welcoming warmth on his skin.

When Tony had finished, he set the cloth down and tentatively took Bruce’s face in his hands (God, his fingers could splay out over his entire face, now). Watching, waiting. Bruce’s eyes fluttered open. He stared at Tony, expression becoming melancholy, bittersweet, before bridging the gap between them. Tony couldn’t help but chuckle when Bruce had to go onto his tiptoes for the kiss.

Bruce’s lips on his lips. It was soft and good, the way it always was, with Bruce. Though the lack of stubble was odd, after having come to expect it.

When they broke apart, Bruce looked calmer. “I am…a lot shorter than you now, huh?”

Tony chuckled. “Temporarily, yes.”

Bruce gave a wry smirk. He combed a hand through his hair, and then shook his head. “You know what the weirdest part about this is?”

His tone was playful, so Tony felt no trepidation in replying, “Oh, do tell.”

“I don’t have any leg or armpit hair.”

Laughter bubbled up from Tony’s chest. Out of all of the things he’d expected Bruce to say, that definitely hadn’t crossed his mind.

“Did Amora actually take the time to include that in the spell?” Bruce asked, incredulous. “ _Why_?”

“I don’t know why she cast the spell in the first place! It’s not like it slowed Hulk down, at all.”

Bruce snorted and shook his head again. Then he let the façade drop and sighed. “All I want to do until this wears off is stay in bed and watch something inane,” he softly admitted.

Wrapping Bruce up in his arms once again (the height difference was actually quite okay with him), Tony nodded. “That can definitely be arranged.”

They spent the next three days eating take out and going through any and all Disney movies they deemed unlikely to trigger Bruce. Tony was also exceedingly careful to keep Bruce away from reflective surfaces, though there were a few more tearful breakdowns, despite his efforts.

When the third day rolled around, and Bruce woke up in his own body once again, he didn’t say anything about it. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all, only stayed in bed, fading in and out of consciousness, and staring at the wall while Tony periodically came in to cuddle up behind him, saying soothing words and trying to rub life back into Bruce’s form with gentle touches. It wasn’t until the next day that they finally emerged.

The shared floor was fairly quiet, though Clint and Natasha were present and lounging on the couch. “So,” Clint began, grinning lecherously and waggling his eyebrows. “What did you guys get up to while Banner was girlified?”

Natasha elbowed him hard in the stomach, and Tony was grateful he didn’t have to go to the trouble of doing it himself.

“Oof!”

“Not what you’re thinking,” Bruce said with a roll of his eyes.

When Clint straightened up and continued to stare, Tony added, “We watched Disney movies.”

“Oh yeah?” The teasing tone was gone from Clint’s voice, replaced by actual interest.

“Yep. Caught Bruce up to speed on the new ones.”

“Well? What did you think?” Clint asked, his attention directed at Bruce.

“They were okay.”

“Okay?” Clint’s eyes were wide, and Natasha was rolling hers, though she’d returned her attention back to her book once Clint had stopped being an idiot. “Did you not watch Moana?”

“Oh, we did,” Bruce confirmed. “It’s just hard to beat my favorite.”

“Which is?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but his expression remained otherwise neutral. “Mulan.”

Clint’s pealing laughter was cut off by another elbow to the stomach. A quick look told Tony Natasha was failing to hide a hypocritical smirk of her own, though. And Bruce, Bruce was smiling now, too.

Tony let out a four-day old sigh. Everything was going to be okay. Though, personally, he’d feel a lot better if he could dig up Brian Banner and kill him all over again. But he couldn’t, and he wasn’t sure if Bruce would even want him to if he could. Instead, he took Bruce’s hand and led them to the lab and back to --relative-- normalcy.

**Author's Note:**

> I headcanon Rebecca Banner as having been extremely dainty, so...yeah.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


End file.
